


midnight city

by eversincewefellapart



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2557982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eversincewefellapart/pseuds/eversincewefellapart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Harry was looking for pumpkin pie recipes. He’s not sure how he ended up on a sketchy looking website, watching his best mate finger himself while talking absolutely filthily, but he’s at least he’s sure God is real now.</em> Uni AU. Louis is a camboy. Harry pines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	midnight city

**Author's Note:**

> A while ago, [Ven](http://camboylou.tumblr.com/) asked me for some camboy!Louis fic. This was the result. **Warning** for derogatory language and mentions of drugs/alcohol.
> 
>  
> 
> [My Tumblr](http://thepurges.tumblr.com/)

*

Harry was looking for pumpkin pie recipes. He’s not sure how he ended up on a sketchy looking website, watching his best mate finger himself while talking absolutely filthily, but he’s at least he’s sure God is real now.

He’s not the sleazy type of guy -- at least, he likes to think that about himself -- but his hand is frozen on the mouse, unmoving, eyes fixed on the screen. The flimsy sleeping gown Louis’ wearing is see-through and hits the top of his thighs, and it’s rucked up now by one of his hands, the other down between his spread thighs, two fingertips rubbing over his tight pink hole, shiny with lube, before he tucks the tips inside. It’s the single hottest thing Harry’s seen, like, ever. His mouth drops open.

Louis’ head lolls onto the pillow, upper body tipping back, making the straps of the gown slip down his delicate shoulders, little pink nipples poking out. He looks delicate everywhere now, really, nothing like the boy Harry hangs out with all the time, loud and brash and seemingly undestroyable.

Louis’ fingers push in to the knuckle and he raises his hips from the bed, rocking his pert arse down to meet them, slick red mouth open as he gasps out the first moan, the first bit of noise Harry’s heard other than the rustle of sheets or squelch of lube. He’s never heard Louis moan before; he’d quite like to hear it forever now.

He watches Louis finger himself without really realizing it, startling when Louis huffs and moves his hand from his arse. It’s only then he notices the -- vibrator? -- by his pillow, not the biggest but not little, curved like a real prick with a wider head. Louis’ hole looks small and untouched still, and Harry’s fingers are digging into his thighs now as he wonders if it’ll fit inside of him.

It does, in the end, and Harry’s frozen to his chair then. Louis’ leaning forward on his hands and knees, only the bottom of his nose and red mouth in view. His biceps are flexing each time he rolls his hips down, tattoos shining with sweat, mewling like it’s the greatest thing he’s ever felt, thighs quivering. Harry’s not really sure if Louis actually thinks it’s the greatest thing -- he knows Louis’ bisexual, he’s just never seen him with a guy. He wonders if Louis really is a slag, or if it’s just for show.

He finds that at the moment he doesn't care much, and shoves a hand down his pants without thinking.

*

He wakes up that day with the insides of his boxers caked with dry come and a guilty feeling gnawing at him. It’s incredibly hard to take a cold shower and resist jacking off again, because the images are still so fresh in his mind -- he’d even dreamt of them.

He picks up a coffee and tea for him and Lou before heading to class, trying not to act strange when he sees Louis already in the room, knees crossed as he taps away on his phone. He’s wearing a black hoodie that says BROOKLYN and it’s open just enough his chest tattoo is on display. His eyes are narrow like always, mouth twisted in a frown like always, Vans dirty and scuffed like always.

It’s hard to believe the guy Harry watched last night is the same one he’s staring at now. “Morning, Lou,” he says, voice cracking, and Louis raises an eyebrow at him as he takes his tea with a nod of thanks.

“Y’alright, H?” he asks, blowing gently against the steam wafting out the small cut in the lid. His eyelashes fan over his cheek as he looks down, cheeks hollowing, pink mouth pursed. Harry bangs his hip against the edge of the table. “Harry?”

“Ow,” he grunts, and slides into the space beside Louis. “Ow, fuck.”

Louis pats him on the back. He’s using the same hand that had been three fingers deep in his own arse last night, and then later in his mouth. “We all have shitty days, babe, s’nothing.”

“You have no idea,” Harry mutters into the table. Louis takes a sip from his tea and doesn't reply.

The class dredges on for bloody ever, and Harry hasn't wanted to leave this badly since he was in seventh grade and just learning the brilliance of ‘ditching’ school. At one point Louis starts chewing on the end of his pen, looking concentrated on whatever Professor Watson is rattling on about, and Harry stares at how his mouth slowly starts to become wet through his peripheral vision until his eyes hurt from the strain.

When it’s finally over, he slams his laptop shut -- his opened document is completely bare, he’ll have to borrow the notes from Liam or something, which is a downright nightmare -- and slides it into his bag, ready to leave as soon as his numb legs can get into gear, but then Louis’ hand is on his shoulder again; the same hand, the same fucking hand. “Hey, H, come over later to finish the assignment with me?” he asks normally, giving Harry his sickly-sweet, conniving smiles, then says, lower, “I’ve got beer and Niall is going to be at his girlfriend’s place.”

The first thing Harry thinks is why it’s so special they’ll be in Louis’ dorm alone, and then he grins at Louis tightly, like he’ll decline -- he totally is going to -- but then Louis’ face falls like he understands the expression, and Harry is a weak, weak, weak man. “Yeah, mate, sounds brilliant.”

Louis smirks again. Shit. “Atta lad,” he says, patting Harry’s shoulder before standing up and heading out. Harry watches his arse in those tight jeans of his all the way until he disappears out the doors, and then barely holds back from kicking himself.

*

“I’m, like, really fucking stoned right now,” Louis tells him as soon as he steps into the dorm, “so maybe we’ll have to fuck the assignments for ‘nother day, yeah?”

Harry stands in the doorway for a moment. Louis’ stretched out on his bed, and his back arches when he yawns, round bum rubbing against the mattress. His muscle shirt is tight enough that his nipples press against it, and his gray sweats are so threadbare that the outline and shape of his cock is just. There.

Harry just -- Harry just wants to fuck him until he cries. And then he wants to come all over him, all over his soft gold skin, make him a dirty fucking slag. And fuck him again until he can’t even cry anymore, just shiver and take it and hiccup and spread his plush thick thighs for more. Christ. Harry used to be a good boy (like, twelve hours ago).

“Uh, does -- does that mean you want me to go? Wanna be alone?” Lord, in this state, Harry wonders what Louis’d do to himself if left alone. He then wonders how much it’d hurt if he just fucking brained himself against the doorway.

“Nah, c’mere,” Louis says, waving his hand in a sloppy manner that does not signal ‘c’mere.’ “Still got some of the bowl left, if y’want, and the beer, and if we’re lucky there are snacks left in the fridge. Dunno. Isn't x-factor on tonight?”

Harry ends up watching Louis more than x-factor, but it’s not surprising. Louis’ face is soft now, not sharp and wicked when he’s not high (which is becoming progressively more rare, recently) and he’s warm against Harry’s side, wrapping his mouth around the lip of the beer or the tip of the blunt. Harry’s also sure he’s half-hard; it looks like his prick has fattened up a bit. It’s most likely a result of the weed, but, y’know. A guy can dream.

Louis takes another swig from the beer then, and for the rest of the night Harry thinks about shoving his prick into Louis’ mouth, fucking it full as Louis humped his hips into the bed, tears dotting his eyes.

Christ.

*

Louis’ been his best friend for, like, ten years. They partnered up for school projects, and Harry helped Louis with classes he didn't understand, and Louis attempted to show Harry how to skateboard or play footie or rugby or any of the other things Louis knew how to do, and they told each other things they didn't tell other people, and they tried weed for the first time with each other, and practiced kissing with together so they wouldn't make themselves look like inexperienced fools in front of girls, and Harry had successfully hidden his all-encompassing crush on Louis through all of it.

He’s pretty sure knowing how Louis looks when he’s wearing a bra and a tail plug is going to set him back a little.

He’s eventually found out Louis only does -- this show thing -- on Saturdays, under the name numbandeasy -- fitting for Louis, more than the name ‘Louis’ -- and it’s the fourth week in the row where he’s sitting in his and Zayn’s dorm alone, laptop teetering in front of him, hand slick with too much lube it globs down his wrist, fisting his cock.

Louis’ arse is to the camera right now, and it’s easily the greatest arse Harry’s ever laid eyes on -- perfectly round, firm and fleshy, evenly tanned for some distressing reason -- and there’s a fluffy tail between his arse cheeks. He reaches back, one small hand spreading himself, showing where his pink hole clinging tight to the end of the plug. Harry rubs the rough pad of his thumb over the big wet head of his cock, thinks about bending Louis over himself and spanking him while he’s got the plug nestled inside himself, jostling it to press against his prostate each time his hand hits.

Louis’ fingertips press against his stretched rim, and Harry can tell he nudged the plug inside himself, his familiar voice floating through the speakers in a raspy moan. His hand then curls around the middle of the fluffy tail, tightly, and he presses his face into the sheets, arse still up and presented, using his other hand to grip his arse cheeks apart. He pulls on it gently, once, twice, until the widest part pops out of him and he can pull it out all the way, tossing it somewhere off-screen. Harry’s grip tightens around his cock, and he feels dazed when he thinks about how easy it’d be to fit his cock in the plug’s spot right now, how hot and wet Louis would be around him.

He watches Louis fuck himself on a dildo as he frenziedly tugs on his cock, watches him almost ride the damn thing as the bra slides down much like the nightgown from before, showing his tight pink nipples, and when he’s sure the image has been etched into his mind, closes his eyes and thinks about stuffing Louis full of his cock, making him ride that instead of a piece of whatever that doesn't deserve to be tucked in his hot little arse.

It’s so unfair.

*

Scratch that.

Watching Louis and Niall play-wrestle on the floor as he, Liam, and Zayn try to finish the assignment Louis blew off is unfair. Liam’s probably talking to both him and Zayn but he’s busy trying to glance back and forth between his laptop and the two of them on the carpet. Louis’ tattered Marvel shirt is rucking up and he’s (mostly) playfully insulting Niall, who grabs his thin inked wrists and pins him to the floor.

Harry watches as Louis tries to half-heartedly push Niall off, chest heaving, mouth open in a smirk, hair toussled. It’s the definition of unfair. He accidentally bites his tongue and yowls.

“Fucking shit, Haz,” Zayn says-scowls-yelps, Liam startling at the noise and Louis and Niall glancing up at him, unperturbed. “What the fuck?”

“Sorry,” Harry slurs, cupping his cheek, and then suddenly Louis’ crouching in front of him, in between his legs, looking up at him with wide eyes and reaching up.

“Are you alright?” he asks, steadying a hand on Harry’s thigh to keep himself up, and no, Harry is very far from okay right now. “Bloody Hell, it looks like it’s starting to swell.” He glances back at the others as Harry tries to avoid falling into cardiac arrest.

“Well, you’re his guardian angel,” Liam shrugs, “you fix him.”

Harry tries to disagree to that idea, but it really feels like his tongue has swollen. Louis grabs a hold of his bicep and doesn't even pull, raising an eyebrow down at him, which is all that’s needed to make Harry stand up and stumble after him.

Louis ends up pressing an actual pack of frozen peas to his cheek, rubbing his back soothingly. “You’re a real danger to yourself sometimes, aren't you,” he sighs, and Harry wants to tell him that he’s the real danger here, but the peas haven't done their job yet of unswelling his tongue. “Why’re you acting so off recently?”

Because I’ve found out that you enjoy getting yourself off while other people watch you get off and get themselves off as well. That’s it, really. “Midterms,” Harry says. He can’t recall if those are even coming up soon.

Louis seems to buy it though, rolling his eyes. “God, H, don't stress yourself out over that.” It’s funny because that is definitely not what he’s stressing over. “You’ll do great, like always. It’s not healthy to get lost in that shit anyway. Proved by science and Harvard and all that, y’know?”

Louis smiles up at him brightly. Harry smiles down at him weakly.

*

Louis takes Harry out to EAT. for lunch the next week, saying it’s all on him because he’s made some extra cash this month. Harry tries to look neutral and not like he was one the people pitching to give him that extra cash.

It goes better than he expected, almost feels like they’re just the best mates they’re supposed to be, puffing the wrappers off their straws and picking tomatoes out of their sandwiches. He doesn't even feel all that antsy until later, when they head to Costa -- “Also on me,” Louis says, and Harry nearly asks ‘how are you suddenly so rich’ just to see Louis’ reaction -- and Louis gets some hot foamy drink.

A good chunk of the foam ends up on his face when he blows on it a little too hard. White foam. He snorts and thumbs it away, and Harry watches in horror as he sucks his finger into his mouth.

He blurts, “Lou, can we talk about something?”

“Mmm,” Louis says, jutting his chin out. His thumb slides out his mouth slickly. “Whassit?”

Harry holds him by the elbow, pulling him from the shop and onto the streets, keeping his voice low. “I know,” he says, and Louis looks up at him with a raised eyebrow. “I, like, know how you got that money.”

“Harold,” Louis says evenly, “it wasn't very hard to tell you knew.”

*

Harry wraps his thumb and forefinger around Louis’ ankle -- his fingertips touch -- watching Louis watch the telly, hands playing absently with the ties of his sweats. They’re undone. Harry’s starting to think all of Louis’ sweats just show the shape of his prick.

“Can I tell you something?” he says after a moment, and Harry’s breath catches a bit, fingers tightening around his ankle. He nods slowly. “I haven't gotten off with another lad in so long, it’s driving me a bit mad.”

Harry blinks, before looking down at Louis, who is watching with a wide innocent smile. As if. “Lou,” he says slowly, “that was definitely the worst come on I’ve ever heard.”

“Not worse than the ones you use,” Louis scoffs, pushing himself onto his elbows, before sitting up. “Would it be terrible if I asked if I could grind against you for a bit?”

Harry’s eyebrows fly up, probably. “You’ve no manners, Christ.”

“Young Harold, would you please allow me to use you so I can come? It’d mean the utmost world to me.”

“Obviously,” Harry says, and lets Louis clamber into his lap, all triumphant grins and sharp eyes that know what they’re after. On-screen, Matt Damon is chased through a busy street by international police. Louis winds his arms around Harry’s shoulders and lean in close, their noses nudging together. “Remember when we used to kiss each other when we were kids? Practice?”

“Yeah, I remember that,” Louis grins, rocking his hips down a little. Harry can feel the heavy heft of his fat cock press against his own, and shudders a little, one arm wrapping around Louis’ tapered waist, the other sliding under the elastic of his sweats and cupping one handful hot arsecheek. Nice to learn Louis goes commando. “Shoulda let me suck your prick for practice, too, because I sure as Hell was gonna need that later on. More than kissing I reckon.”

“Huh,” Harry says. Louis’ hands are fisting in the shorter hairs at the base of his neck, tugging lightly, and it’s getting harder to focus on meaningless banter. “Your first time was that bad?”

“Mhm, worse than you could -- imagine,” Louis grunts, dropping his forehead down to rest on Harry’s shoulder, clinging to him so close now that their chests are pressed together. Louis’ so much smaller than him, not as broad either. “Fuck yeah, do that -- again, please --”

Harry tugs Louis in even more, fingertip rubbing over his clenching hole as they rut together. Harry’s wearing his jeans and it may not as be good as Louis in loose, soft, unconfined sweats, but it’s still so much better than he’d would have ever thought. He rocks his hips up, the clothed tented shape of his cock sliding between Louis’ cheeks, a friction that makes him pant heavily and push up like they’re actually fucking, like each thrust just shoves his cock back inside Louis’ little body.

He lets two fingertips snub Louis’ hole the next time, and Louis moans and starts to come, his cock jerking noticeably in his trackies, body shivering in Harry’s lap. He presses his warm wet mouth to the crook of Harry’s neck and whimpers against it as Harry keeps grinding against him, and Harry exhales when he finally comes, hot against Louis’ arse.

Louis kisses the skin under his ear. “Next time, you do that inside me, got it?”

*


End file.
